


An Inconvenient Truth

by bow_eros



Series: An Inconvenience [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Atlas CEO Rhys, Catchin' Feelings, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Riding Crops, Rival CEOs, Rival Relationship, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 00:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19684603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bow_eros/pseuds/bow_eros
Summary: Some part of Jack wants to pounce on him and strange the life out of him. Rhys was making him feel this way. He knows this feeling, and it’s a disgusting part of himself he thought he put far behind him, some part of him that he left on Pandora with the remains of Angel’s mom. This wasn’t Handsome Jack.But he wasn’t always Handsome Jack in front of Rhys.





	An Inconvenient Truth

Jack rolls onto his side from his front, his hand coming down to rub his own flank with a sigh of discomfort. “Could’a gone easy on me, y’know. I know it’s been a rough week, but damn, Rhysie.”

Rhys laughs softly before he’s kneeling on the bed, carefully running the tip of the crop along his cheek. “What’s the fun in that?”

No face stuff, even with the mask on like it is now, they had agreed on that, so Jack feels safe (enough) to turn and carefully mouth at the tool’s flexible head. Rhys’s eyes go a bit dark, before his left one lights up, seeming to rotate in the middle and the iris widening.

Another recording.

Jack remembers intimately each one of their encounters - even if it’s a vague memory or a booze-addled one, it’s still a memory. Rhys always records these moments, wanting to replay them.

“Scared you’re gonna forget or somethin’?” Jack murmurs, eyes narrowing slightly before he flops over on his back, grabbing the neck of the riding crop to hold it still, licking the leather slow and sensual.

Rhys is silent for a long moment before he moves to settle on Jack, laying his chest along Jack’s stomach. “Something like that,” Rhys whispers.

“Hm.” Jack closes his eyes, focusing on the taste of the leather for a contemplative few moments before he closes his mouth and lets himself rest. “Blackmail?”

“Definitely,” Rhys sounds humored. “Imagine the amount of cash I could get for real video evidence of Handsome Jack gagging for my dick. Or just the satisfaction knowing I could flood horribly image-defacing photos into the inboxes of each and every person working for you with a few flicks of my hand…”

Rhys flips his cybernetic hand palm-up, bringing up the video he just took. Jack is red-faced, flustered, with his mouth looking bruised and his throat ringed with marks. He looks slutty, if he had to put a word to it.

“You wouldn't,” Jack says confidently. He believes that; it would mean Atlas was having ongoing relations behind the company’s back with Hyperion of all people. It would be a PR nightmare for both of them if this got out past the few rings of management that know about it.

Rhys smiles though, and Jack’s confidence deflates a bit.

“Wouldn't I?” he seems to preen under the skepticism, the disbelief. “Who wouldn't want a piece of me and my business knowing that ‘that twink Atlas’ is giving it to you rather than taking it? That you like it when I beat you senseless, and finally put you in your place?” Rhys closes his hand into a fist, stopping the video. “I think it’d be only a benefit to me if I were to release these.”

Rhys really has him by the balls here. Handsome Jack is supposed to be a man’s man, yadda yadda, not take it up the ass. Especially from this, so aptly put, twink.

And yet Jack can feel the way his cock starts to fill up again, being helpless in this situation. He could strangle the kid, he doesn't have that much of an upper hand, or he could rip his cybernetics out of his head until the Atlas CEO was nothing more than a pile of bloodied meat on the ground. But that’s not why he’s on Pandora in the first place. It’s so Rhys can find the weak spots in Jack’s veneer and poke holes in it until he crumbles.

Who knew corporate sabotage would be in his kink list.

Jack glances between his eyes. “... how many do you have?” his voice is a little quieter, and it makes Rhys laugh harder.

“Hundreds. Snippets here and there of things that really incriminate you.”

Jack’s mouth forms a tight line. “And hopefully get you off?”

“Oh, definitely.” Rhys shifts his body and brings his hand to Jack’s groin, fingers teasing along the vee of his hips. “By the feel of it, you too.”

“I don't think it’s the idea of everyone seeing my, uh, handsome visage choking on some seriously sweet cock is getting me off so much as whose cock it might be I get to choke on.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking?”

“No,” Jack pushes himself up onto his elbows, smiles a little wry. “Unless you want me to choke on your cock.”

“I’m never one to say no to such a salacious offer,” Rhys hums. He leans up, pressing a kiss to Jack’s mouth. It’s slow, kind. Jack keeps it that way, nothing desperate or too bitey; Rhys kisses to check up on him, see how he reacts to such a sweet touch and deduces how to continue. He’s telling Rhys he’s okay with the scenario without words. He hates explaining himself. 

Rhys grabs him by his hair, and Jack growls against his mouth at the feeling before he’s being tugged down the length of the bed, folding over himself. He lays on his back with his head over the edge of the bed, looking up at Rhys, who’s undoing his belt.

“You’ve been good,” Rhys says lightly. “I should reward you.”

“By fucking my face?” Jack licks along his teeth, but smiles. “Or something else?”

“I was thinking of riding you, but if you’re going to be smart about it…”

“Funny position you have me in if you’re gonna ride me,” Jack’s smile is wide, though when he raises his arms, his hands are shaking. He loops his fingers through Rhys’s belt loops and tugs him closer. “Sixty-nine?”

“Ask nice,” Rhys teases. His hand rests on Jack’s chest, the other starting to pull his trousers down his legs.

Jack laughs this time, fingers digging into Rhys’s hips. “Oh,  _ pleaaase? _ Please, Rhysie? I’ll be  _ so good  _ and totally eat you out as you suck my cock.”

“You are so obnoxious,” Rhys comments idly, though he’s already leaning down to kiss Jack’s stomach. He steps out of his pants, puts his knee on the bed, and his mouth on Jack’s cock before he can do much of anything to reply.

Jack’s legs splay wide, eyes fluttering shut with a small, pleased smirk. This is definitely more up his alley. He hooks an elbow over the back of Rhys’s thigh to get him to kneel on the bed entirely, and leans up to bite into the meat of his ass. The noise it startles from Rhys makes him laugh, but any irritation is soothed with a luxurious swipe of his tongue along the mark, then across Rhys’s hole. “Adore eatin’ you out,” Jack growls.

Rhys doesn’t respond more than a soft grunt, focusing on his task. Metal hand cold on Jack’s thigh, organic one massaging the vee of his hips and lower, cupping Jack’s balls to roll them in his palm. Attentive and loving, Jack can tell he’s making an effort.

His ass is sore. He grinds it down into the bed to get the welts to sting a bit; one of them hurts so bad it sends heat to his face, makes it hard to breathe for a second. He strokes Rhys’s cock in one hand and buries his tongue in his hole to distract himself from the pain, or at least let it wash over him in a different context. This is the good kind of pain, not the unexpected kind. 

Rhys’s metal fingers drift along his thigh, sending tingles through him and making him pant. That arm is so sexy. It used to be Hyperion, until he downgraded -  _ “Upgraded,” Rhys growled _ \- to that Atlas tech he was so proud of. And to be honest, in the most humble sense of the word, it was pretty friggin’ slick. Chrome that never pinched Jack’s skin, smooth joints like a doll’s instead of the squared-off plates of the Hyperion style. This one fit him a bit better, Jack thinks. The cool metal is nice on his ass, and makes him shiver as Rhys’s fingers dig into welts there, still sucking, and just--  _ just--! _

“Fff--  _ fuck, _ Rhys, I’m not…” Jack squirms beneath the attention, head falling back - vertigo hits him a bit, scared he’s going to fall, and his body jerks with a sudden rush of adrenaline as if he needs to catch himself. Rhys holds down his hips with a disgruntled noise, fingers digging in a little more and making Jack hiss.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Rhys huffs, but he’s not stopping his own actions, near  _ ministrations _ of how adoringly he’s peppering kisses along Jack’s cock, how both of his hands are on Jack’s ass, nails digging on one side, metal cool and soothing on the other.

Rhys’s mouth wraps around him again, and it’s too much. Jack squeezes Rhys’s hips hard as he cums, metaphorical fireworks going off behind his eyelids and making his ears ring. It feels like his stomach drops to accommodate this full, warm feeling in his chest, hot like a bonfire and almost painful, and it’s  _ scary. _ It feels like he’s going to throw up, it feels like he’s been shot, and his body is reacting poorly. Is he dying? Did Rhys really fuck him to death?

He doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Rhys’s fingers are gently touching his cheek, looking down at him with a concern-furrowed brow.

“Hey,” Rhys’s tone is light, lighter than it’s been in a long, long time. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Jack sits up with the help of Rhys’s hand at the back of his neck, getting back onto the bed so that he can wrap an arm around Jack’s chest--

“-- _ too much, _ ” Jack growls, shrugging Rhys’s arms off of him, though he’ll-- he’ll keep the one on his neck. That’s fine, at least. “Too… too much.”

“Okay,” Rhys murmurs. He gently squeezes, an offer of comfort, and Jack slowly starts to breathe evenly. He raises his hand to check if he’s still shaking, and he has to quickly tuck it between his knees with how bad it is. Again, Rhys murmurs, “Okay.”

Jack closes his eyes, and Rhys’s hand slowly trails up and down his back. Tender. Some part of Jack wants to pounce on him and strange the life out of him. Rhys was making him feel this way. He knows this feeling, and it’s a disgusting part of himself he thought he put far behind him, some part of him that he left on Pandora with the remains of Angel’s mom. This wasn’t Handsome Jack.

But he wasn’t always  _ Handsome Jack _ in front of Rhys. 

Rhys reaches up gently to touch Jack’s cheek. “Can I take this off?” he whispers.

... Jack nods, slow and cautious. He doesn’t want to, not entirely, but Rhys doesn’t ask him to take the mask off for no reason. Rhys can tell when Jack’s putting on a strong front.

Rhys settles a little more on the bed in front of him, gonna slowly take the mask off one hinge at a time before he can set it aside, pulling his shirt over his head and carefully dabbing away any sweat that was lingering on Jack’s skin beneath. Beneath his eyes, along his temples, on his upper lip. The cool air is nicer. A little abrasive, humid on these parts of Pandora, but it’s a welcome change that makes Jack feel… better.

Rhys knows how to calm Jack down, that’s what it is. They’ve been doing this for so long that it’s just second nature to him, Jack thinks that he’s unable to help his caring and thoughtful nature when Jack starts to gnash his teeth and defensively posture. Whether it be an ass-whooping or sitting on the bed watching a vid on his ECHO, it’s… comforting. It’s something he hadn't felt in a while. Safe? Or...

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhys says, though it’s light and teasing, his smile is charming and… cute. 

Jack tilts his head. 

Rhys shakes his head. “Like you  _ love  _ me or something. We’re not supposed to do that. We’re like, mortal enemies.”

_ We. _ Jack holds his breath for a second, and his voice is caught somewhere in his chest, behind that big ball of warmth that made him freak out. He wants to blame it on the afterglow of a totally bitchin’ orgasm, but-- that’s not entirely it, is it?

“Right?” Rhys murmurs.

The way the tone shifts is uncomfortable for both of them, confusing and new territory. They’re not exactly new to all of this, but this is putting a name to something that they don’t know if they can even  _ do. _

Jack clears his throat, finally pushing aside that warm feeling in his chest - shelf it, put that little nugget of information away for right now, examine the fuck out of it later when he’s not completely nude in front of his rival. “Right,” he rumbles. “The last thing I would wanna do is fall in love with you. Shit’s corny, anyway.”

Rhys’s eyes flash a little knowingly, causing an anxious stir in Jack’s stomach, and his head cocks just a centimeter before he smiles all sly. “Good,” he hums. “Because you’re an utter douche. Surprising to me that anyone wants to fuck you. They’ve got to be stupid to want to get anywhere  _ near  _ you.”

“Y’know, I hear a certain Atlas CEO is on that list,” he reaches up and gently catches Rhys’s chin between his fingers, angling him so that he can lean forward and kiss him, slow and deep. Thankful, too, and he hopes Rhys can feel that.

Rhys snorts, and wraps his arms around Jack’s shoulders. “Yeah, he’s gotta be a total dumbass to sleep with the likes of you.”

They kiss for a few more moments before Rhys is cupping Jack’s cheek, thumbing along the edge of his scar and kissing his eyelids. “Better?” he whispers like it’s a secret.

Jack nods, throat constricting a little with an awkward swallow. 

Rhys hums, fingers combing through his hair, hand landing on his shoulder. It feels good to be petted. He hates that he likes that. “I’m gonna get some Anshin cream for your welts, then we’ll talk about how I’m totally going to send all of your peons pictures of  _ Handsome Jack’s _ face when he’s jizzing yourself stupid.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jack says with the same confidence as before.

“You know,” Rhys says, mock-contemplatively, “ _ maybe _ I won’t, just for your sake.”


End file.
